Disclaimer: The characters depicted in this story, as well as the HP universe, belong to J.K. Rowling. I am not making any money off of this.
It was a Friday afternoon, and the weather was terrible. Gusts of wind were sweeping the streets and ruffling treetops. The air was fresh and cool, on the brink of being sliced by the first sheets of rain, if the rumbling in the distance was anything to go by.
Draco did not fancy getting drenched, so he took cover under an awning of one of the cafes scattered throughout the street. Which street, he had no idea. His best guess was that he was somewhere in London – and what a relief that was! He could barely keep standing from exhaustion as it was, but the muscles in his body seemed to go slack as soon as his foggy brain registered that there was a very good chance – a very, very good chance - that the damn spell had landed him in Muggle London of all places. But Draco didn't have the strength to rejoice in that fact. His entire body ached and burned as he stood there, distinctly uncomfortable as the Muggle crowds hurried along to complete their errands, return to their families after work, or perhaps find a nice pub to hide from the storm in.
Lucius had unceremoniously thrown him out of the family home as a punishment for protecting his mother from a beating. The man used a dark spell that worked by transporting one outside a certain radius of the immediate location. Draco was lucky to be alive, as many wizards who were banished with the use of the spell ended up in lakes or rivers, or suspended too high in the air to survive the fall.
Despite being physically drained, Draco's emotions were running high. What was he supposed to do now? Where would he go? Would he have to stay in a Muggle inn? Could he find a wizard to help him return to the wizarding world before the day was out? Assuming he did find a member of the magical community, how would he convince them to help a Malfoy? But the biggest question of them all was: how safe was it to go back to the wizarding world? How safe was he within the reach of Lucius' arms – and the man had long arms indeed, assisted as he was by a mixed network of corrupt beaurocrats and small-calibre criminals, neither of whom had any shame in accepting bribes in exchange for doing Lucius' bidding. Draco knew what his father was capable of. It was better to lay low, at least for now.
Draco felt lost, and the feeling terrified him. Outside the wizarding environment, and for the first time without his family name and money to back him up, he felt defenseless, like a common tramp or a bug to be squashed without mercy or even a single thought. Draco had been conditioned to never be vulnerable or open himself up for others to see. However, all his training was starting to feel like a cumbersome shell obscuring his real self, the self that wasn't permitted to develop under the pressure from the constructed persona Lucius ordered him to build around himself.
The rain came down hard as people rushed to take cover. Draco waited for the initial burst of rain to let up before stepping out from under the awning and heading down the street. A few passersby with umbrellas gave him weird looks, dressed as he was in tattered black robes, but no one cared enough to stop. For all they knew, he was some sort of loony or a homeless kid, and the way he was dragging his feet wasn't helping matters.
That night, Draco slept on the streets. His robe was soaked through, but some flattened cardboard boxes provided some insulation from the cold ground. Draco didn't linger on the harsh, filthy reality of his circumstances: his soggy "bedding," the smells wafting from the nearby trash piles, his hungry stomach, and his weakened body which, to his horror, was starting to take on the rancid smell of his surroundings.
That's how Neville found him in the morning. His granny had sent him to do errands that morning, and the seemingly innocent action brought about the collision of two unlikely individuals on two very different paths.
At first, Neville din't believe his eyes. He paused midstep, just to be doubly sure that the boy lying in the alleyway wasn't Malfoy, an absurd thought in and of itself. However, he resemblance was spectacular, and Neville made a few hesitant steps towards the body.
Draco's eyes were closed, and his face was still as water. Neville sniffed the air and scrunched up his nose – Malfoy smelled bad, but that was no wonder considering where he was lying down. In a steady voice, Neville called out, "Malfoy!" The boy was still. His pale face had a smudge of dirt, but otherwise was perfectly pale. Fearing that Malfoy was unconscious or worse, Neville said more forcefully, "Malfoy! Wake up!" Maybe Malfoy was hurt? But then Neville reminded himself what his granny told him once: you're a good boy, Neville, too good sometimes. One of the most painful realizations Neville made in his life was that kindness didn't always pay off. Being a good Samaritan could get you killed. The thought always dragged up memories of his mum from the darkest and loneliest corner of his soul. When that happened, Neville cried.
But his heart reached out to Malfoy, despite the warnings sounding in his head. It was time for Neville to take a chance, to gamble with fate for something he believed in.
"Uuuuh," Draco sighed, cracking his eyes a bit. He was sore and hurting. Was someone standing over him?
Neville saw Malfoy's eyes fly wide open. With a sharp, wheezing intake of breath the boy started shuffling backwards in little movements, his hand searching his robes for something – his wand, no doubt.
"Don't-! Malfoy, it's me- It's Neville Longbottom! It's just me!" On his part, Neville also scrambled for his wand, but his fingers didn't seem to obey him, and he was scared that Malfoy would fire a curse before he could even grasp his own wand.
That seemed to calm Malfoy down a bit, although he did take out his wand and slowly stood up, his shoulder leaning against the wall for support. Neville realized he was practically defenseless now.
"What are you doing here, Longbottom?" he rasped out.
"I was just- I was just in the area." Thinking that sounded suspicious, he added, "My gran gave me some errands to run, and one of them involved going to a Muggle shop right around the corner." Taking in Malfoy's appearance, Neville whispered, "What happened to you?"
The whole situation seemed surreal to Malfoy, who just shrugged, the tip of his wand still raised and pointing in the direction of Neville's feet.
"Can I help?" The question sounded ridiculous even to Neville's ears. No way Malfoy would want help, or take it from the boy he had bullied so many times in the past. Neville was certain his status in Malfoy's eyes was lower than dirt. Was he even qualified to take care of Malfoy? He never was any good at even the most rudimentary healing spells. Or getting good marks in schools. Or quidditch… Or protecting his parents from Voldemort.
"What?" Draco said sharply. "Help from the likes of you? Don't kid yourself, Longbottom." Although it wasn't much of an insult, Draco felt rather than saw Neville shrink away in apparent pain.
"Are you hungry?" Neville continued hesitantly, looking down at his shoes.
"Piss off, Longbottom," Draco replied maliciously, suddenly fed up with the encounter. Why wouldn't the piece of scum just leave him alone?
Hurt as he was, Neville went on, "I have some food with me. My granny had me buy it today. I can leave something for you." At least he could say he did his best at trying to help. But then again, he always did his best, and it never seemed to matter. With that thought, he mustered up all his courage in the hope that he maybe he could do something right, just once, "Or you can come stay with me until-" Until what? At a loss for words, he closed his mouth as his cheeks turned slightly pink. Why is it that speech always abandoned him when he most needed it?
Was this some sort of sick joke? Draco thought. A cruel trick concocted by Gryffindors? A suspicion blossomed in his mind: as soon as he said yes, would Longbottom smile cruelly and walk away? But looking at the boy's face, Draco couldn't tell if that was the case.
"All right, Longbottom." After all, he still had his wand pointed at the boy.
"All-?" Neville was clearly surprised, but recovered quickly. "Can you walk? Or do you need help?"
"I can walk just fine," Draco growled. "Let's go then," he said arrogantly, pushing off of the wall and stepping into the sunlight. Neville had to run a few paces to catch up with the striding boy.
"Where to, Longbottom?" Malfoy said in a commanding voice. To Neville, he sounded intimidating despite the state of his robes and his unhealthy appearance.
"It's about 10 minutes from here," Neville said breathlessly. He couldn't figure out for the life of him why he still felt subservient to Malfoy, being the one to offer him shelter and food. It made him angry.
They walked in silence. Finally, they reached an abandoned building. Neville stepped inside like it was something he did every day, and Draco followed. What he saw was an entirely different landscape. Gone was the city. Vast fields stretched out before him, the grass glistening after the rain. On top of the hill stood a house of considerable size, a mansion even. Mighty oak trees lined the dirt road leading up to the house. Draco scoffed under his breath. Compared to the Malfoy residence, this was a shack.
When they reached the front door, Neville paused:
"Gran is out with her friends today. She's out most days." Draco thought Longbottom sounded sad.
Inside, the house was impressive. The air was a little stale, and the furniture was covered in carvings of magical beasts, some of them quite horrifying. But the beautiful chandeliers and the dancing flames in the fireplace made it somewhat cozy.
Draco followed Neville upstairs.
"You can stay in here," Neville said pointing to an intricately carved wooden door. "This is my bedroom," he said pointing to the door opposite. "The bathroom is down the hall, and I can make us something to eat." He seemed to waver for a second. "Unless you want me to help you. With anything. That is, if you're hurt…?" Having embarrassed himself, Neville just stared at Draco miserably, waiting for an answer.
Malfoy swallowed. "I think I'll go take a bath." With that, he opened the door to his room and disappeared inside.
Neville went downstairs to prepare lunch. Maybe some sandwiches would be good? Or some soup? Finally settling on a dish, he went to work.
Draco came back from his bath refreshed and happy to have washed the dirt and the awful smell off his body. He examined his leg, which was a bit bruised up from the fall he had taken when the spell dumped him in London. He tried performing a healing spell, but to no avail. Putting his pants and shirt back on, he went downstairs and quickly found the kitchen by the delicious smells wafting through the air.
Draco stood in the doorway watching Longbottom cook. The brown-haired boy seemed to be in a world of his own, his fingers grasping soft, malleable pieces of dough, rolling them between his hands and placing them on a baking sheet. The main dish was already in the oven, judging by the heavenly smell. Sensing the presence of another, Neville half-turned to say a soft "oh, hi" and went back to the dough. "I made too much dough, so I thought you'd like some cookies. You like cookies, right?"
The phrase played over and over again in Draco's mind. The quiet confidence of Neville's tone, combined with the slow, deliberate movements of his hands was almost hypnotic. Was this the Longbottom he'd known at Hogwarts? Or a completely different man?
After a questioning glance from Neville, he finally gathered his wits enough to say a meek "Yes." If Neville was surprised at the response, he didn't show it. Perhaps he was too engrossed in manipulating the dough to notice, Draco thought. Even though Draco's vantage point offered a limited view of what Neville was doing, even looking at the boy from the back he could identify a certain grace in his movements. Not to mention that Longbottom had a surprisingly nice build, with outlines of muscles softly moving under his shirt, and shoulder blades shifting to match the movements of his hands.
Finished with the cookies, Neville took off his apron and motioned for Draco to take a seat around a large kitchen table, covered in nature-inspired designs in the style of the rest of the house. They both sat down. Draco looked up and saw Neville absentmindedly tracing the patterns on the tabletop.
"You're a good cook, Longbottom," Draco said, throwing all caution to hell.
Neville said nothing, only glancing up momentarily from what he was doing.
Draco's stomach rumbled loudly, causing Neville to smile. They sat like this for only a few minutes before Neville got up to get their meal out of the oven. The steaming quiche was enough to make Draco's stomach voice its hunger once more. "What is that contraption?" Draco asked, nodding at the oven.
"It's Muggle," Neville replied, knowing that as soon as he said it, any unspoken truce between them would surely be broken, if there was even one in the first place. But Malfoy stayed strangely quiet.
They ate the quiche in silence, neither one knowing what to say, but when he was done, Draco complimented Neville on the taste.
"Thank you. I don't get to cook for people often. So I guess you could say I'm glad you're here."
"You stay here by yourself all summer long?" said Draco, clearly steering the conversation away into neutral territory.
"Like I said, gran is out most of the time. So it's just me and my plants. I have an herb garden in the back. The quiche was made with the herbs I grow. I also store some for cooking in winter, and for potion-brewing."
"You? Potions?" Draco said in disbelief.
"Well," Neville seemed embarrassed "they're more like healing salves, but the concept is the same. Many of my plants have healing properties. There are ways to enhance these properties and create a product that can heal wounds and stop headaches, that sort of stuff…"
"Oh," Malfoy said. With each passing minute, he had more reason to reevaluate the kind of man Neville Longbottom was. "Well, the food was great," Draco said quickly, getting up and heading out of the kitchen. Longbottom watched him go with a serene expression on his face.
When Draco reached his room, he felt very drained. He took his pants off, but didn't have enough strength to take off his shirt before reaching the bed and falling instantly asleep. The last thing he remembered thinking was that the quiche was indeed delicious.
A knock on the door woke him up. Neville poked his head in, carrying a plate in his hand.
"I thought you might like these now." He set the cookies down on the nightstand. "I saw you sleeping earlier, but I didn't want to wake you up."
"Why are you being so nice to me?"
That was a question Neville didn't expect. He looked Malfoy right in the eye.
"That's how I was raised."
"But you're parents. They're-"
"I know!" Neville cried, suddenly distressed. "But don't you understand? That's why it's so important for me to be true to myself. That's what they would have wanted!"
"Stay true to yourself?" Draco mocked. There was a tide of fury rising within him. "That will get you killed! How stupid can you be, Longbottom? You and your noble Gryffindors are a dying race, and so is everyone else who shares the traits of the house! The Dark Lord is out there; you can't trust anyone, you can't believe in that utopia you all think Saint Potter will win for you! It's every man for himself now. It's a game of survival. It's better to be on your own now – you stand a better chance of survival that way. It disgusts me how gullible you are, Longbottom. You think you have a heart of gold, don't you? You think you'll be rewarded for the good little deeds you do to help strangers in need? Well, I've got news for you: you're not as perfect as you think." Draco swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, his breathing heavy, his eyes glistening with malice. "When the time comes, you'll die with the rest of them, Longbottom, and I will watch you die. You'll be nothing but dust upon which to build a stronger wizarding society. You got that?" He was now inches away from Neville. "You'll be fucking dust."
"No," and Draco had to strain his ears just to hear the whisper. "No," Neville repeated, his voice cracking. "You're wrong. What kind of man are you? You don't believe in anything or anyone, much less in your own power to change your life. You're a cripple, Draco Malfoy. You're crippled without your faith. That's all you are." He took a shuddering breath, whether from fear of Draco's looming form so close to him, or for some other reason, Draco didn't know. "You're going to destroy yourself, Malfoy, well before you see this society of your dreams."
One moment, Draco's fury seemed to reach its peak, his nostrils flaring out and his eyes flashing threateningly, and the next he stumbled away from Neville, sitting back onto the bed and curling down on himself like a deflating balloon.
Neville still stood where he was when he first came in. He made a barely visible sigh of relief, and then saw the ugly purple-black bruise on one of Malfoy's legs. After glancing at Malfoy to make sure he wasn't about to become murderous again, Neville quietly exited the room. He came back holding a tiny jar. Kneeling down in front of Malfoy, he began methodically applying the ointment to the bruise, looking up at Malfoy periodically. When he was done, he raised his eyes and they met Malfoy's.
"Better?" Neville asked.
"Yeah," Malfoy replied just as softly. Neville opened his mouth to say something else, but then shut it and stood up.
"Sit down beside me, Longbottom." Neville did so. He waited patiently.
"Thank you."
"It was the least I could do."
Sensing a smile, Draco looked up – and indeed, Neville had a smile on his face and a soft shine in his eyes. At that moment, Draco thought that Neville was the kindest person he knew.
"Looks like your bruise is fading quickly." Looking down, Draco was astonished to see that the bruise was almost gone. What surprised him were the warm fingers on his outer thigh, pressing down. "Does that hurt?"
"Just a little."
"Good." But he didn't remove the hand.
"Are you so deprived of human company, Longbottom, that you get sick pleasure out of molesting me?" was what Draco wanted to say. But a second later, when the biting comment still hadn't left his mouth, he decided that he didn't really want to say it. Not at all.
His hand covered Neville's and it was as if they reached an understanding.
Draco didn't know who kissed who first, but Neville's kiss was amazing. It wasn't so much the kiss itself as the feelings that swelled inside of Draco at such an intimate act. He was suddenly overwhelmed with his new knowledge of Neville, and broke the kiss abruptly, panting.
"Is- is everything okay?" Neville questioned, unsure. Draco looked so lost.
"Yeah," Draco said. "Yeah. Everything is great." And he meant it.
They locked lips again, and Draco fell backwards on the bed, Neville falling on top of him. Shirts were quickly discarded, followed by Neville's pants.
There was something desperate in what they were doing, something raw. It felt like if they stopped now, they'd never find the thing they're searching for; like they were two men underwater, holding onto their last breath before death claimed them.
When it was over, they lay side by side on the bed, each one lost in their own thoughts. Draco shifted to look at Neville's face. What they just did could never be undone or forgotten. It was a memory they both consented to have, and one that would influence their decisions for many years to come. Draco felt like he was part of something monumentally important.
"Hey Neville," he whispered.
"Hm?"
"I-" But then he halted. There was so much bad history between them, so much hatred. Nothing he could say right now could clean the slate. And he was done pretending like he knew all the answers.
"Draco?" said Neville softly.
"Let's stay like this a little longer."
And they did.
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